


My Heart, The Hands That Hold My Soul

by HaroThar



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 05:25:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18162002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaroThar/pseuds/HaroThar
Summary: Talos and Soren do not lead easy lives, and at times they can not even lead them together. Still, the stars will allow them their happiness, though they must fight for it. Still, they are dearly in love.





	My Heart, The Hands That Hold My Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Entirely unedited and lacking any semblance of a plot *double finger guns*

“They’ll kill us all.”

Talos says it. Soren says it. They’re both right. It changes nothing. They say it when they watch or hear new news. They say it when negotiations are revealed to hold no negotiating at all. They say it in quiet hours, vulnerable and clinging to each other. 

Soren has always been so _small._ Talos strokes a gentle finger along her malformed jaw, lacking the prominent cleft chin found in adult Skrull. It leaves her looking permanently childlike, but he knows better than to infantilize her. She is not a warrior, but she _is_ a survivor. Tough as claws and smart as sunlight. 

“Soren,” Talos tells her, one night when they are naked and vulnerable but together and earnest and _home_ with each other, “my heart. The hands that hold my soul.”

“Talos,” Soren murmurs back, sleep in her voice, “my sweet. The hands that hung my stars.”

“I’m going to help fight back against the Kree.” He braces for her reaction, whatever it might be. She drags her slender, flutelike hand across his cheek, rough calluses reminding him that she is only small, not frail. 

“I know.”

“You know?”

“You’re a noble heart, Talos,” she tells him, smiling. “Protective, smart, and cunning. The kind of man who can cut a chicken’s head off.”

He knows she means more than that. What she’s implying. Cutting a chicken’s head off is unsavory, but necessary. Killing a Kree would be difficult, but necessary.

Ordering allies to their deaths for the sake of the greater good; necessary. 

“Just promise me,” Soren says, pulling their foreheads together, “you will come home to me.”

Talos embraces her as tightly as he dares, with her petite frame and birdlike bones. Holds her and cherishes that he still can. “I promise,” he says into her shoulder, “and forgive me, my love, if I am a liar.”

—

It is worse than they imagined, but somehow they were still right.

“They’ll kill us all,” Talos tells Soren, shaking and wiping at old wounds. “They’ve already got a good start.”

“We’ll stop them,” she promises him, smoothing her skin over the wrinkled plane of his scalp. 

_I’ll stop them,_ he thinks, because of all the things he wants in this life, his wife near the guns and the bodies is not it. 

—

“We’re lucky,” he tells her, after the meeting with Mar-Vell. “It’s not every day you meet a Kree with a heart. Rarer still they last long enough to do something about it.”

“You’re all quite sure we can trust her?” Soren asks, quiet in the empty room, not sure if the walls have ears.

“No,” Talos says with a small laugh, “But I am sure that we’re running out of options.”

And they are. Faster than they ever thought they would. They’d thought they could give the Kree a good fight, last long enough to find a new home. And in some ways, that was incredibly true. After all, no one else the Kree had ever slaughtered lasted this long. 

“Promise you’ll come home to me,” Soren says, when they are half dressed and half asleep, limbs entangled enough they might as well have merged into one body.

“I promise,” he murmurs without opening his eyes, “and forgive me, my love, if I am a liar.”

The words are familiar, a comfort, a ritual. A special folk magic that could possibly, possibly, make him come home to her each time, as long as they remember to do it.

—

For six years, she tries to forgive him. 

Liar, liar, liar.

“Momma?”

 _Liar,_ she thinks.

Just please, please, she prays to each of her gods, not a dead one. 

“I’m just missing your daddy, sweetling,” she tells her daughter, with her father’s wit and eyes and gentle way of touching things, as though all the universe might break if handled too roughly. Soren pulls her into a hug and hums, low in her chitterbox. “Sometimes I miss him so terribly.”

“When am I gonna meet him?”

“Soon, sweetling.”

“You said that last year.”

Soren bites her lip hard enough it bleeds and wonders if maybe she can take the form of something that doesn’t have tear ducts. Hers are overeager.

“I know sweetling, I’m sorry. Forgive me for lying?”

“I forgive you, Momma.”

—

Seeing her again is

Seeing him again is

Home

Home

Home

Home

_Home!_

Embracing is a relief from the burden of six years. Of not knowing, of wanting, of missing, of fearing. They’re both alive and together, again, finally, finally finally finally. Talos can meet his daughter, with her mother’s cheeks and curiosity and clever fingers. Soren can hear his voice and Talos can touch her hand and they can sing again finally _home._

The Kree frightens them, but not so badly. The group of Kree frightens them, and they are rightfully scared. But they escape, with the help of Mar-Vell’s girl, with the help of these strange but gritty humans, and they are grateful. 

Talos has blood on his hands. Soren has nightmares. They both are too vigilant, paranoid, ready to bare fangs and hiss at anything that goes bump in the night. But they are home, with their little girl, and escaping to find someplace else.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/Critiques appreciated!!!


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